Downgrading
by the queen of slurking
Summary: Jason leaves Harvard to work in a restaurant. His thoughts on why.


**Downgrading**

All my life, I'd been 'perfect'. Good grades, good friends – I did everything textbook and the 'right' way.

When I decided to go to Harvard, it was essentially a given. My parents appeared to have expected it all along and so I began collecting together everything that would complete my application. On paper, I was the perfect candidate. I'd done my research into what sort of students the school accepted, and shaped myself accordingly. Grades, I already had. Extra-curriculars, the same.

So when I got into Harvard, it was less of a surprise. Mom and Dad were happy to pay the fees that remained after the scholarship, and Mom took me shopping for the dorm necessities.

Everything looked perfect. I had a girlfriend with whom I shared a lot of the same interests, having eventually moved on after Macy and I broke up.

When I got to school, it was with my dorm already mapped out and pages of notes already crammed into my suitcase, having read all my books cover-to-cover.

After Macy's reaction to having a sort of contract, where we listed possible events and reactions in our relationship, I'd learned that not everything had to be black-and-white. That was why, when I was looking at a second break-up, I decided to suggest a clean break rather than a long-distance contract.

For a while, everything was going as it should. I quickly became part of a group that had the same classes and it was much like in high school: we travelled in something of a pack, studying together and socializing together. I had a well-established routine and everything was mapped out. I didn't like deviating from my routine much: everything was well under control and I was doing well.

University didn't seem much different to high school: there were some who were very intense about their work, and others who weren't so focused. There were the little cliques and the students who preferred their own company. The biggest change was that I wasn't surrounded by the students I'd known for years.

Over time, I began to feel unsettled. Academics started to seem like all that defined me, like my parents. I remembered Macy saying one time my parents looked different when they weren't holding books, and I didn't want to be defined by books.

The next weeks dragged on in a muddle of classes, sleeping, eating and friends. The routine I'd come to love and crave felt stifling. I stuck it out, justifying the money spent and the time and effort it'd taken me to get here. Years of extra-curriculars and studying and keeping my nose clean, in order to get to Harvard. It was the best university in the world, one that only admitted a handful of students per year. You didn't just throw it away.

I vowed to see the end of the year out and then think about transferring.

I came home that summer, not exactly triumphant. Already my parents were asking why I'd not done summer school: it would've been a good way to get a headstart on my second year, but that was why I hadn't done it.

I emailed Macy for the first time in months, asking how she'd gone from structure and routine to working for a catering company, which was an arguably unpredictable job. Still, I'd met her again after she'd taken the job and she seemed happier.

While my parents tried to figure out what I was thinking, I hunted for jobs. Something simple, not academic. I soon got a job at a restaurant, preparing burgers and sandwiches. It was unambitious and structured to an extent, but I relished the change. My parents were suitably upset, more so when I told them I wasn't going back to college. It was the first summer I wasn't doing something important and worthwhile with my time, which didn't help matters.

Restaurant work, as Macy had told me, was sometimes chaotic and messy and unpredictable. I didn't know what to expect.

At first, my workmates thought I was a rich boy slumming it. It became worse when I absently corrected things they were saying, and I had to work to break the habit. Mom and Dad came around eventually, conceding that I was an adult and therefore old enough to know what I wanted and what was best for me. At work, I became another smart guy who had to get his hands messy. My workmates became friends, and we began to respect each other rather than actively dislike. I broke the habit of being so formal and rigid, learning to accept things as they came.

True, I'd downgraded from Harvard to menial work. And true, I'd had to work for respect rather than have it come automatically.

For the first time, I could appreciate chaos.


End file.
